


Come In

by anoTherloNelyheaRT



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Christmas Fluff, Fluff, M/M, Pre-Slash, Snark, Steter Secret Santa, Stiles is a bit of an Unreliable Narrator, Unreliable Narrator
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-21
Updated: 2019-12-21
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:09:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21892690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anoTherloNelyheaRT/pseuds/anoTherloNelyheaRT
Summary: Stiles accidentally invites Peter for Christmas dinner. It goes better than he thought it would.*Edited 3/22/2020 - fixed some mistakes, reworded a couple of phrases
Relationships: Peter Hale & Stiles Stilinski, Peter Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 24
Kudos: 319
Collections: Steter Secret Santa 2019





	Come In

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lasenby_Heathcote](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lasenby_Heathcote/gifts).



> My Steter Secret Santa gift for lasenbyphoenix. Hope you enjoy.

Stiles loves snow, don’t get him wrong okay, he loves it. But with global warming on the rise and the fact that it hasn’t stopped snowing for five fucking seconds in the past four days, he’s getting a little worried. This is Beacon Hills after all, and he wouldn’t be actually surprised if some supernatural creature figured it would be fun to ruin the holidays for him. On the other hand, he wouldn’t quite say that his Christmas was going all that well even without a monster-of-the-week disaster on the horizon. His dad was spending the past few weeks mostly by working overtime and refusing to acknowledge the holiday season at all. He picked up the Christmas Eve and the Christmas Day shift for the sixth year in a row, thus leaving Stiles to figure out the food and decorations.

Which is how he got here, standing in the middle of an overcrowded supermarket – also coincidentally the only supermarket Beacon Hills had to offer – and trying to decide on the quantity of food he needed. Should he be optimistic and get more in case his dad would actually eat some of it? Or should he just cook for himself, assuming the food will go bad like last year otherwise?

“Doing some last-minute shopping, Stiles?” drawled a voice from behind him, “I would have thought you knew better than that.”

Stiles did not jump. Or startle. No matter what anyone – or the security feeds – said.

“Hello Peter,” he sighed. “how very nice to see you here.”

Despite his better judgement telling him not to encourage anything, he turned around and glared at the older man. Unfortunately, Peter didn’t seem to be the slightest bit deterred.

“Now, now Stiles. Didn’t anyone teach you to be polite?”

“Sorry,” replied Stiles sarcastically, “I must have dropped my manners when I was running from an insane alpha werewolf a couple years back.”

Peter just rolled his eyes. “This again? When are you going to let that go? I told you, I’m much better now.”

“Yeah, you keep telling yourself that.” Stiles turned back to his turkey, fully intending to ignore the conversation. Sadly, getting rid of Peter has never been as easy as that. Instead of accepting that as his cue, the werewolf took a couple steps closer, so close in fact, that Stiles could almost feel his breath on his neck and looked over Stiles’ shoulder.

“Having a difficulty choosing, are we?” he drawled.

The thing is, Stiles’ mouth sometimes doesn’t wait for his brain to catch up. It has gotten him into, but also sometimes out of, many problems in the past. It’s like it has a mind of its own almost. Usually Stiles doesn’t even know what will come out of it until it does and then he’s usually just as surprised about it as the person his words are aimed at. Which is why, when he opens his mouth, fully prepared to tell Peter to fuck off and let him do his shopping in peace, what comes out instead is: “Do you want to come over for Christmas dinner?”

If Peter wasn’t currently plastered along his back, Stiles probably wouldn’t be able to notice the way he tenses for a couple of seconds. He barely registers it as it is since he is silently berating himself for his words. What follows is a short silence that Peter breaks just as he takes a step away from Stiles.

“Why Stiles, I didn’t know you were that starved for company.”

“I’m not.” Which would sound much more convincing if it was said just a split of a second later and without allowing defensiveness to creep into his tone. To be fair, Peter probably would have caught the lie anyway, but now there was absolutely no denying it.

Not about to wait for Peter to start making fun of him Stiles started to ramble. “You know what that was a terrible idea, I don’t even know why I said it. Let’s just.. let’s just forget I asked, yeah?” Stiles tried to make his way around Peter desperately avoiding eye contact. “Yeah, that sounds good, okay, great chat Peter see you ar-“ he stopped talking abruptly when Peter caught his arm just as he was about to slip past him and make a run for it.

“Stiles.”

Stiles was stubbornly looking anywhere but at the werewolf.

“Stiles, I’m sorry.” Which like….what? those words were enough to jerk Stiles into looking Peter in the eyes. Surprisingly the older man didn’t look like he was about to start mocking Stiles for his lack of plans on Christmas. He looked almost… sorry about his remark. Which _would_ make sense since he just said he was, but this was Peter Hale, an ex-comatose power-hungry werewolf who so far seemed to have about as many feelings as a sentient rock. So Stiles feels like he can’t exactly be blamed for short circuiting a little.

“…..What?”

Peter looked down to the side. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. I would be happy to join you for Christmas dinner.” He didn’t really look like he had an easy time saying any of that.

Stiles was too dumbstruck at that moment to actually process any of what just happened. He was still stuck on Peter’s apology, something so out of character for the man. Or like the whole Hale family for that matter. The only thing he could get out was: “Okay.”

Peter looked up, his face unreadable. “Okay?”

Stiles nodded frantically, determined to get out of this awkward conversation as soon as possible. Peter Hale had Feelings, capital F and he had no idea how to deal with it.

“Yeah, okay, just come over whenever I guess, I mean, on the twenty fourth that is, cause you know, this is not a standing invitation, obviously, anyway yeah, whenever, my dad won’t be home until late, sooo… You, uh, have the address, right? Right, okay so see ya!” at that he beat a hasty retreat, only stopping to snatch the bigger package of turkey on his way out. He could feel Peter’s amused gaze all the way out to the parking lot.

* * *

Stiles isn’t nervous okay? He just isn’t. Peter will either come or not and he _does not care_ which one it will be. Okay, maybe he cares a little bit, but only because the food will go bad okay? Besides it’s like two in the afternoon and he told him to come over for _dinner._ Plenty of time.

He checks the pierogi he has baking in the oven – a recipe from his grandmother – and decides to start on the turkey stuffing. Just as he’s pulling ingredients from the fridge somebody knocks at the front door. Stiles makes himself walk over slowly, despite the way his heart, for some reason, decided to beat frantically out of his chest. He opens the front door to Peter, who is standing there with…. Shopping bags? Was the supermarket even open today? And what would Peter even bring? Stiles also has no idea how Peter got there since he has never seen him drive and didn’t even know if he could. A quick scan of the street doesn’t reveal any unfamiliar cars, only his Jeep in the driveway and their neighbors’ black sedan parked in front of their house. The rest of the street is empty, people deciding to visit relatives out of town.

“Stiles.” Peter sounds amused as he is staring at him. “Are you going to let me in?”

It dawns on Stiles that they’ve been standing on the porch for quite some time. He hurries to get out of the doorway. “Right yeah, of course. Come in.”

Peter slowly walks in, momentarily setting the bags on the floor to relieve himself of his coat and scarf – both looking extremely expensive, and then he picks the bags back up and strolls through the living room, finding the kitchen on the first try.

Stiles finally shakes himself out of… whatever that was, and follows Peter into the kitchen. “At least you used the front door this time.” He mumbles to himself.

Peter, of course, hears him anyway. “Well, as much as I prefer going through your window, the shopping bags would make it slightly uncomfortable.”

Stiles glares at him from where he’s leaning against the kitchen table. Peter seems to make himself right at home and is currently unpacking his purchase.

Stiles can’t hold his curiosity any longer. “What’s all this for?” nodding towards the items on the table.

Peter glances at him from the corner of his eye. “Gingerbread cookies.”

“Ginger- what?”

“Gingerbread cookies?” Peter raises an eyebrow. “You know, the traditional Christmas cookies with cinnamon and icing?”

“With- yes Peter, I know what a gingerbread cookie is! I just don’t know why you decided to come over to my house to make them.”

Peter just shrugs. “I felt like I should probably bring something as well and this is the best recipe I’ve tasted so far.”

Oookay. Stiles feels like he should be checking if the real Peter hasn’t been kidnapped and exchanged for an imposter. On the other hand, he is kind of enjoying this Peter so he’s not going to be looking this gift-horse in the mouth just yet. Besides, for all that Stiles freaking _loves_ gingerbread cookies he never manages to make them just right.

“Fine. But stop spreading so much. I need at least half of the counter to make the stuffing.” Peter obligingly moves out of the way. Stiles thinks he may have fallen down the rabbit hole right into wonderland. Granted, breakfast is already over, but Peter Hale baking cookies in his kitchen has to count for at least four impossible things.

The beeping of the oven clock shakes him out of it, and he goes to pull the pierogi out onto the counter. After that he and Peter fall into a companionable silence, Stiles making the stuffing and Peter mixing the ingredients for the dough.

There is no food fight.

That is not to say Stiles doesn’t try, but he only gets as far as grabbing a handful of flour before Peter, who apparently has eyes everywhere growls at him.

“Stiles, you should really think about if this is a fight you can win.”

Which…point.

* * *

It takes a couple hours before everything that can be done in the kitchen is ready and the turkey is finally in the oven. Which is how Stiles finds himself at the dining room table with Peter sitting across from him, trying – and failing – to decorate the cookies. Every once in a while, he sneaks glances at Peter’s which, of course, are perfect. Seriously, it’s like the man can do nothing wrong. Stiles crams another pierogi into his mouth out of spite. At least those turned out really good. And if the way they are disappearing from Peter’s plate as well is any indication, he’s not the only one to think so.

In the end Stiles just gives up on the decorating and starts piling up as much icing on the cookies as possible instead. If it’s not going to look good, it may as well taste good. Stiles is sure Peter notices as well because the bastard gets this infuriating half smile, half smirk on his face but doesn’t say anything. Instead he reaches for another pierogi, only to find his plate empty, which, in turn, makes Stiles smirk.

When they’re done, they set the cookies to dry – their numbers also greatly diminished, what with Stiles eating almost every second ruined piece – and then they check on the turkey. It’s nowhere near done yet so Stiles turns on the tv and starts flipping through the channels. Peter joins him on the couch after a moment and doesn’t even complain when Stiles settles on Home Alone. Maybe he isn’t as bad as Stiles previously thought. He doesn’t laugh out loud but there is a small smile on his face when Stiles sneaks a couple glances.

Once the turkey is done, they bring out all the food to the dining room and just when Stiles thinks the evening was going as well as possible considering the circumstances, Peter demands their best china. Stiles tries to tell him to shove it but Peter just keeps staring at him, until he gives up and digs it out of the cupboard it was sitting in for the past five years.

Mostly they eat in silence, but Stiles can’t help looking at Peter from time to time. He thinks he’s being inconspicuous until Peter sighs loudly and asks with a lifted eyebrow: “Is there anything on my face, Stiles? You can’t seem to keep your eyes off it.”

Crap. Okay, diversion tactic, he’s good at those.

“Do you think the snow is normal?” he asks.

Peter looks at him for a while longer, probably sensing that’s not the reason for Stiles’ staring but then he seems to let it go. “It’s winter Stiles, it’s supposed to snow.”

Stiles shrugs, not deterred by the sarcastic tone. “Well yeah, _supposed_ to. But when’s the last time you remember a white Christmas? Not to mention it hasn’t let up once in the past five days.”

Peter frowns. “So you think it’s something supernatural?”

Stiles shrugs again, “I don’t know, could it be? It’s just suspicious, that’s all.”

Peter’s face does not give much away. “I suppose we could look into it. I have some books.” He looks so aloof that if Stiles didn’t know just how much he keeps things close to the chest he really would have thought his next words were nothing out of character. But as it is when Peter’s next words are “I could bring them over tomorrow.” Stiles is basically picking up his jaw from the floor. Thankfully Peter is keen on ignoring the significance of his offer as well, so he keeps his commentary to himself.

He got also stuck on one other thing. “Just like that? I mean I have no proof, just a feeling.”

Peter gave him a strange look. “Yes Stiles, just like that.”

“But… Why? Not that I’m complaining, it’s just… Usually it takes more than that.”

Now he could have sworn Peter looks almost angry. “I am not Scott McCall, Stiles. I can actually see people’s assets. You have good instincts so if you say it’s weird, I believe it is worth looking into.”

Stiles feels his face heating up and he drops his eyes to his plate. “Thanks.”

Peter is, once again, pretending nothing significant has been said in the past few moments. “You’re welcome.”

“And um… tomorrow would be great. Dad is working again so you don’t have to worry about that.”

Peter just gives a slight nod at that as he gets up and starts collecting their plates. Once more they fall into a pleasant silence that lasts all throughout washing and drying the dishes until Stiles walks Peter to the door where he picks up his coat.

Once Peter is dressed, he turns to face Stiles. For a while it seems as if he doesn’t know what to say.

“Thank you for the dinner.” Is what he ends up with, looking slightly awkward.

Stiles nods. “You’re, uh, you’re welcome.”

There is a moment where Peter seems to be contemplating something until he huffs out a breath and takes two steps forward that put him nearly chest to chest with Stiles, who is standing there frozen in place. Peter looks him in the eyes for what feels like a small eternity and then he brings up his hand to put on a side of Stiles’ neck and slowly – enough so that Stiles could pull away if he wanted – he leans in until his nose touches the other side of Stiles’ throat. He stays that way for a couple of breaths and then drags his nose firmly along the side of the younger man’s throat. He pulls away slightly, making sure to drag his fingertips along the skin they’re touching as well. Then he lets go completely, opens the front door and is striding down the street without a second of hesitation.

He leaves Stiles standing still in the doorway, mouth slightly open and fingers touching his throat.

* * *

The next morning the snow turns into a raging hale storm that lasts for four hours and floods the whole downtown with ice. Stiles fucking _called_ it.


End file.
